Our only road is onward, our only light a pale hope that multiplies the shadows.

The dark presses.

We walk closer now – if one lags he is lost. Each of us has tested this respite and come back gasping.

I have had much time to marvel at Dwarven kind. They bent immortal stone to their design yet we pick and thread our way about their bones.

In their joy, I’m told, they delved too deep and something in the darkness came for them. We all chase the phantoms of our dreams … What in the darkness now must wait for me?